Hey Girl, Where in the World?
by Beechwood0708
Summary: Gender-swap. Vince and Howard must remain as women until Naboo can return them to themselves, and Vince gets into some trouble. First chapters are humorous, tone will darken afterwards.


A/N- This was a request for the awesome and fantastic Jamie, who has, admittedly, already seen this chapter. Chapter 2 is already begun, and hopefully won't be too long, though I'm also planning to at least make something of a start on the various other things that have been requested.

Be aware that the tone of this will become considerably darker as it continues. This chapter is pretty funny, but it gets worse. Possibly not in the next chapter, but later on.

This is my first foray into fanfiction in quite a while. Hopefully I'm not too rusty. Please enjoy.

Hey Girl, Where in the World?

Chapter One

Howard woke up feeling like his head had been stuffed with packing foam, which had been pushed in right up to the brim and was expanding into his skull. He opened his eyes and squinted as the invading daylight stabbed at his retinas. Eventually, though it made a sharp pain awaken in the back of his head, the world came into enough focus to make sense of things. Though by the look on Vince's face, which was in very close proximity to his own, Vince evidently had seen something that he couldn't make sense of.

"Mmph," Howard groaned. "What's up with you?"

God, his voice sounded weird this morning.

Vince didn't say anything. With that confused look still covering his face, he reached over and poked Howard in the chest. And Howard was quite confused as to why Vince didn't have to reach very far to poke him in the chest.

Howard picked himself up from the floor and felt a strange, heavy soreness. Then he shrieked.

It wasn't unusual, on a drunken night in, for Howard to take his shirt off. It was unusual, however, for him to wake up in the morning with a rather large pair of firm, tanned breasts.

"Where the hell did these come from?" he cried, noticing that his voice was indeed several octaves higher. His hands were hovering about six inches away from the breasts, torn between the crassness of touching women's tits, and the unusual truth that they just happened to be his own tits. Then he turned his head to Vince, who was still ogling them in confusion. "And how come you haven't got any."

Vince shakily tried to pick himself up from the floor. He stopped abruptly and Howard saw his eyes widen further than usual. "I think I have," he replied.

"Where?" demanded Howard. "Let's see 'em."

"You're not seeing 'em!" Vince shrieked, his voice becoming quite absurdly high. It made Howard giggle slightly, which provoked a defensive glare from Vince.

Vince rested on his knees, hands covering his chest protectively, and Howard could see that they were indeed clutching two petite little bumps under his t-shirt.

Vince was looking at him with those huge eyes, now widened in anxiety. "Howard, what did we drink last night?"

"I don't know," answered Howard. "I drank too much."

It was at this moment the sound of Naboo's bedroom door opening stabbed through the awkward tension of the room. Face as blank as ever, Naboo strolled into the living room, took one bemused glance at Howard's much-expanded chest and remarked; "Those are new."

"You don't say," retorted Howard.

Naboo just nodded, and walked past them into the kitchen. The only thing that gave away his actions was the rustle of a bread bag and the click of the toaster being turned on.

"Naboo," Vince pouted, getting up and, Howard noticed, already unconsciously sticking out his bottom and squeezing his arms in front of him to press together his new tiny titties. "We got really drunk last night and we don't know what we drank. What did we drink?"

Naboo eyed up Vince's slight female body. "Nothing that can't be undone."

Howard stared at him as he emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of toast and a cup of tea. "You're not angry?" he choked.

"Course I am," replied Naboo. "I'm fuming. I'm just not properly awake yet."

With that, Naboo disappeared back into his bedroom.

Embarrassed silence hung in the room, which seemed to have become unusually hot.

"Well, um…" Howard began. "I think I need to put some clothes on."

"Yeah," Vince replied, a little absently. His head was inclined downwards, rather noticeably. Howard cleared his throat. Vince's head didn't move. In the end, Howard just turned his back and wandered out.

* * *

When Howard returned, he was wearing the most shapeless sweater he owned, which was now looking considerably less shapeless. He sat down next to Vince, shuffling uncomfortably on the sofa.

"You alright?" Vince asked.

"My back," Howard replied. "Really hurts."

Vince nodded, sitting back, not entirely able to suppress the persistent observation that Howard's sweater was a drastically different shape. Vince himself wasn't aware that his eyes rarely, if ever, removed themselves from said sweater, but Howard certainly was.

"D'you think Naboo's gonna be pissed?" he asked.

"Probably," answered Howard. "Whatever it was we drank, it managed in one night what can normally be only achieved through several years of psychological preparation, hormone supplements and surgical operations." He paused. "Naboo could have made a mint out of it."

Vince leaned back in regretful agreement as Naboo finally emerged from his bedroom, now fully dressed and wearing what could be described only for lack of any more appropriate term as his 'angry face'. While both Vince and Howard knew that Naboo's potent anger was never something to be taken lightly, it did always, at least initially, seem quite laughable, because Naboo wasn't very good at expressing emotion. Not because he was reserved or repressed, but because he expressed emotions much like someone who isn't quite sure what emotions are or what their purpose is and so has researched the appropriate time to feel each one and how to express it. While they could be assured that Naboo's anger was certainly very real, it didn't detract from the fact that he expressed it like a bad actor.

"What you drank," he said, in a way that would have been seething if Naboo didn't seem to be trying quite so hard to seethe, "was an experimental potion that mixes current biological knowledge and traditional plant-based folk medicine to change your entire physicality and keep you functioning properly with the right processes and hormones."

"That explains why we have boobs," Vince observed.

"We're sorry," added Howard.

"You're only lucky that you were too drunk to feel any pain when it happened," Naboo snapped. "Which is more than I can say for myself; you've drunk everything I made."

Vince and Howard's faces fell simultaneously. "So…" Howard began. "That's it. You can't change us back?"

Naboo smiled. There was something in the expression that resembled a Venus flytrap. "Don't worry about my potion," he said. "I made notes; I can easily make some more. I've got a few contacts to sell me more oestrogen samples. The hardest part will be paying for all those bloody roses. I might have to substitute them with lettuces." The flytrap smile widened. "Less luckily for you, it was only a one-way potion for turning a man into a woman. Drinking any more now would have no effect whatsoever. I'm _presuming_ that the potion for turning a woman into a man basically follows the same process, but I'd have to try making it to find out for sure."

"It shouldn't be too hard, should it?" Howard asked through gritted teeth. "Just, you know, find a carrot…"

Vince stared at him, exuding a thick, scornful silence. "A _marrow_, Howard," he corrected.

Naboo cleared his throat. "Of course I'll need to find all those ingredients, fine tune the quantities, experiment with methods, all of that…" His Venus flytrap smile looked like it had just finished digesting a particularly large insect.

"How long will all that take?" Howard dared to ask.

"I couldn't say for sure," said Naboo. "But I think… about a month or so, give or take a couple of weeks." He grinned like he'd just discovered that the insect was not only large, but had brought his girlfriend and was carrying a picnic basket with a sandwich and a six-pack. "Depending on how close the two formulas turn out to be."

Howard looked like he'd been hit in the stomach with a shovel. "A month?" he repeated. "Naboo, I can hardly walk without leaning forwards. And none of my clothes fit."

"That never seemed to stop you when you were a man though, did it," Vince cut in, in a tone of voice that almost sounded sensible.

"True, but at least then I could get them on," Howard countered.

"Ah," Vince conceded. Then, a bright smile beamed from his face, which Howard couldn't help mistrusting just as much as Naboo's Venus flytrap grin. "I'll buy you some new clothes, Howard. And some bras. You need them, with tits that big."

"That's fine, Vince, really," Howard responded through gritted teeth.

"Howard, if we're going to be stuck as women for a month, you can't just go around in shirts you can't fit round you," Vince pointed out, and Howard had to accept with an internal huff that he was right. "The police don't usually look too kindly on that."

"Then I'll buy my own," he stubbornly insisted.

"Howard," Vince reasoned. "We both know that you'll tell yourself that all week, but you won't ever be able to bring yourself to step outside."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Howard, still bent double on the sofa, heard Vince's panicked cry of "Shit!" emanating from his bedroom. When he rushed in, he found Vince with his knees pressed together trying to force together a fly button and buttonhole that were at least an inch and a half apart, sucking in as much as he could, despite the fact that no amount of holding his breath would ever be able to convince his pelvis to change shape.

"I was wondering why the fly burst on my other jeans," he said, with not inconsiderable strain.

Howard was sure he wasn't the best person to suggest solutions for this kind of problem, but he felt obliged to try anyway. "Do you have any leggings?" he asked.

Vince stopped struggling to stare at him as though he had just started casually eating a puppy. "Of course I don't have leggings," Vince replied, voice full of ice. "Until last night, I had _gonads_."

"Ah," Howard said, nodding and trying to make himself see the apparently inherent stupidity in making that suggestion in the first place. "How about… just fasten them as far as you can with a belt and cover it with a really long top."

Vince's icy bearing melted, and Howard felt a hot flush of relief run through him like a metaphorical piss.

"That's actually a pretty good idea," Vince said, digging through his wardrobe for a thin belt. "Thanks Howard."

As he prepared to take off his t-shirt, Vince shot Howard an expectant glance, and Howard turned round somewhat awkwardly so that he couldn't see Vince's breasts as he took off his top and replaced it with one that covered his flies.

"Just one last thing before I go," he said from behind Howard's back. When Howard turned round, he found Vince stretching out a tape measure, his face bearing the grin of a serial killer.

"No. No, no, Vince, I draw the line here," Howard protested.

"But I have to know what size to get you," Vince protested. "If I get you the wrong size, that won't help anything. Your boobs'll still make your back hurt."

Howard was forced to acquiesce, and reached down to take off his sweater. He took a deep breath and swallowed.

"Howard? Howard? _Howard!_"

He snapped back to reality. Vince was trying to avert his eyes and his face had gone noticeably pink. "You don't have to do that."

The measuring was actually much simpler than Howard had expected. Vince just checked a few sizes, though a little awkwardly in some cases, wrote down the figures,

and checked them in the back of an old womenswear catalogue that Howard decided not to question the presence of.

"Holy shit," Vince breathed. "You're a 38FF! Bloody hell, those are _huge_." He exhaled sharply as he dropped a few things into a bag. "I'm a 34B," he announced, with just the mildest trace of pout.

_Too much information_, was the only thought that registered in Howard's head.

"Right," Vince said, with a tone of suppressed irritation. "I'm off!"

* * *

Vince decided to avoid his usual shopping spots. People knew him there, and though he didn't seem to have changed all that much, especially compared to Howard, he didn't want anyone wondering why he was suddenly buying clothes in different sizes, why he was buying bras at all, or why his voice seemed to have broken in reverse.

So he was currently in an area that he could walk through anonymously, thanking whatever gods might be out there for La Senza. He was trying not to think too hard about whether or not it was weird that he and Howard now owned matching underwear.

Idly, he now wandered through another shop, rifling through piles of jeans and studying labels for hip size and leg length, when something else caught his eye.

It was a deep blue something else with wide shoulder straps, a low square neckline, ornamental gold buttons down the front of the tight-fitting bodice, and a wide gold belt above a flowing mid-thigh length skirt. It looked so good that Vince had to will himself not to give in to inappropriate thoughts about the mannequin.

Vince had been staring at it open-mouthed for at least ten minutes before a sales assistant asked him if he was planning on trying one on. Vince could only nod wordlessly as he was ushered over to the appropriate rail to pick out his size.

* * *

The dress was, quite frankly, the most amazing thing he'd ever worn. It clung to his new feminine figure, accentuated his slight curves without over-exaggerating them and made his legs look longer while swishing around them in a billowy sort of way that made him feel deliciously free. It had a sort of coy appearance of modesty about it, while actually being really quite revealing. Vince did an excited sort of skip in the middle of the cubicle, grinning to his reflection. It was perfect! And as soon as he'd paid for it, he planned to run straight into the nearest pub toilet and change straight into it. He could almost feel the breeze playing around his bare legs, blowing his skirt up around him like Marilyn Monroe in that film he saw once. He could almost see the jealous stares of people who walked past him, who wouldn't be able to pull their eyes away as he sauntered through the streets, and he'd look them right in the eye and grin at them. He would be the best-looking girl in London!

It wasn't until he became aware of the shuffling of feet and the muffled coughs from outside the changing room that he finally sighed, peeled the dress off and put it back on the hanger, replacing it with his own top and ill-fitting jeans. He slid out from the cubicle, aware that his charming power was considerably reduced without the dress, slipping out and turning his shameless smile and swinging hips on the glowers of a queue of impatient women.

"Is it okay?" the sales assistant asked him as he left.

"It's perfect," he answered, grinning like hundred-watt bulb. Then, his eye fell on another dress; a longer, wine-red halter neck with an Indian print. He picked it up off the rail and cast his eyes over it critically. "Do you have this in a bigger size?" he asked.

His grin widened, causing the sales assistant to subconsciously shrink back in slight terror.

"I've got a friend who would _love_ this…"


End file.
